Internment.

#GuessWhosBackBackAgain #SelfiesBackTellAFriend #SchoolHasBeenKillingMeYallYouJustHaveNoIdea #Fiction #NewOCs

Handcuffs locked. Pinkies out. Latch. Three, two…

“We are connected.”

“Flesh to flesh.”

“I feel what you do.”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“If you lie, I’ll know.”

“If you lie…”

“Tell me what you fear most in this world.”

Ezzie hesitated, gnawing her lip in that way she does when she knows she’s doing something wrong. “I’m afraid…”

“I’ll die alone.” Bruce smiled at that, adjusting his smallest finger’s hold. The cuffs bit cold at Petyr’s exposed wrists and every, milky scar tattooed in the skin was exposed. Petyr chuckled at himself, a disgusting lurch pooling in his insides. “I’m afraid that I’ll always be alone.”

“What keeps you up at night?”

“The fire,” Ezzie breathed, eyes everywhere but where they needed to be. “The smoke and how I felt like I was drowning. Their screams. I--”

“--Loved it.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.” Petyr sniffed, resisting the urge to wipe his eyes. “And I know I shouldn’t have. B-But it was like this--” Tick.

“Yeah…” Margot sighed hard through her nose, shoulders slumped forward to support the weight on her elbows. “It’s kind of pathetic when you think about it.”

“All of that happiness just washing over me,” Ezzie admitted, hyper-aware of each tock the far-side clock echoed. She was sweating. “It was like, for the first time--”

“...I felt free.” Bruce leaned back in his chair, keeping his arm extended far enough to keep their hold together without nipping his wrist on the cool metal, relaxed smirk resting easily on his cheeks.

“You’re lying.” Margot’s eyes narrowed and she drew forward. “There’s no such thing.”

“I want to ask myself if it’s real everyday,” Petyr continued. “If I can feel that good all over again.”

“And you can.”

“I want to.” Ezzie’s cheeks were flushed. She giggled. “I will do anything to get that feeling back.”

“But you can’t.”

“Because it wasn’t real.”

“Nothing is real.”

“But me.”

“But rage.”

Margot tilted her chin up, a distant malice in her eyes.

“What are you afraid of?” Bruce kept his contact, growl forming in the back of his throat, fists clenched.

“Honestly?” She finally smiles. “You.”